Of Wayfarers and Witches
by EarthScraper
Summary: It happened all too soon. Saint Serrate had fallen ill from an unknown ailment. No cure has been found. She is quickly, and surely running out of time. Her only hope is her beloved knight, Sir Alva...
1. Prologue

In the regal, ivory citadel that stood solidarity on the cloud crested mountain, not a single footstep echoed through the empty halls. The white walls glowed in the glare of the sunset. The glass, stained with vivid colour and images, painted the floors with a pale palette of colours.

Across the hallway, the great, brass doors had opened as a small man entered the room, accompanied by two knights. He placed a tray onto the bed side table, and began to mix a vial of orange liquid.

"How are you today, my Lady?" he asked, looking at the frail, pallid women on the bed. Her blonde hair was plastered with sweat, her eyes, once as blue as the midday sky, had dulled, turning pale baggy with lethargy. She breathed hard as she sat up.

"Better, thank you." She replied with a warm smile, and took a sip from the vial.

When the land first heard, the news was heart-wrenching. Lady Serrate had fallen inexplicably ill. And it was getting worse as the days went by. The man feared for her as time passed.

"...You don't need to lie, my Lady." he whispered tenderly. Serrate sighed, harshly.

"I'm sorry, Dante." Serrate confessed.

"It's alright, my Lady..." Dante sighed, and stroked his long, ash grey beard. "I understand."

Serrate slumped slightly, resisting her fatigue.

"Serrate, my Lady, rest if you want." Dante said as he reached for her hand. Serrate shook her head, weakly.

"No, it's alright..." she gasped. "Any...any news?"

Dantes shoulders sagged. "I have found nothing about your condition, my Lady. I have read every book, every tome, every scroll in this temple, but nothing on your condition..."

Serrate looked towards the floor. "This is it, I suppose...The end of my life, is nigh."

Dante looked towards the floor, seemingly at the same spot as Serrate. "...I have failed you, my Lady. Please, forgive me."

Serrate looked at him, and held his cheek with tenderness. "No, my dear Dante, you could _never _fail me."

The two looked at each other, smiling, holding hands, remembering what they vowed to each other, a great many years ago...

"I have one more idea, my Lady." Dante said, his wrinkled face beamed at the idea. The two guards nodded to each other, and left the room hastily.

A few minutes later, they returned, with another in tow. He stepped forth, and Serrate smiled when she saw his bright blue eyes, short, messy orange hair and his little, familiar smile, though it quickly turned to a frown as he gazed upon her.

"My Lady Serrate." he began, and knelt. "You summoned me?"

Serrate gave a raspy laugh. "Alva, how many times have I said to not bow?"

The man, Alva, stood and smiled again. "Too many for me to _not _forget." he replied, joining with her laugh. "How are you, my Lady?"

Serrate felt her brow furrow. "Alva, my time is near, my dear."

Alva nodded solemnly.

"I..._We, _wish to ask something of you." Serrate began, though Dante continued.

"Alva, my boy. Serrate's condition will only get worse, and with no sign of a cure, I'm afraid...she..."

Alva nodded again, listening to his every word.

"But all is not lost, yet. Alva, we wish to ask this..." Dante sighed. "We want to you to go. Go, to every land, every city, every kingdom, and find anything, _anything, _about Serrates illness."

Alva pondered, finger and thumb on chin, before nodding eagerly. "Of course, anything for my Lord and Lady."

Serrate and Dante smiled. "That's my boy." Serrate sighed. Alva gave a weak smile.

"I will make preparations, and leave right now." Alva said, and bowed. He turned, and began to walk out.

"Alva." Serrate called. He turned, still smiling, though his brow furrowed in deep concern. "Whatever happens, I will love you, always, my child."

Alva sniffed, forcing his tears down.

"Be careful, Sir Alva." she said, respect and admiration thick in her tone.

"...I will be back soon, my Lady. You can rely on me, as always." Alva whispered back, sorrow flowing down his cheeks, and left hastily.

Reaching his quarters, he wiped his tears away, and armoured himself in his light, yet reliable and strong armour. Reaching for his royal longsword and shield, he fitted them onto his back. Taking some gold, a flask of water and a pouch of healing wares, he made his way towards his bedside table, and retrieved his pendant.

Alva stared at it, entranced by it's golden sheen. He rubbed the locket with his thumb, distant memories flooding back into his mind, followed swiftly by tears.

Shaking his head, Alva wiped away his tears, and placed his helmet on his head. Shutting his visor, he turned away from his room, shutting the door, locking it, and handing the key to a nearby servant.

Sir Alva, walking past the silent gate keepers who saluted him as he went past, descended the mountain, unable to foresee the events, dangers and perils ahead.

Like a true Wayfarer.

**A.N. Hello thar! I want to write something different for you all, since I'm sick to death of writing 'comedy', and want some real storytelling experience under my belt. The great thing about this place is that I can improve my writing freely without restrictions of teachers and criteria.**

**TMOM2 is on hiatus, no reason other then I cannot be arsed to carry on with that thing. Probs gonna rewrite and do the other idea, Ornstein, Shiva and Caboose only with cameos from other peeps. Thing is, I don't find it funny any more, I find it a chore. But at the same time, I like the idea, and REALLY want to get it done.**

**ANYway, the lore in Dark Souls 2 is nice (once you delve deep into it, like the first one), and one of my favourite lore characters is Alva the Wayfarer. We know hardly anything about his story, so, like The Origins of Artorias, I wanna do my own rendition of his history. Also, his armour is kickass.**

**Hope you stick with me, again!**

**Also, as a side note, who else thinks the Black Knight Greatsword (not ultra) was shit, but now is absolutely epic-sauce!? Ultra hasn't got the amazing strong attacks from DKS1 that rock in pvp anymore, but still awesome.**

**Also, DragonBro, and the all new stuff that goes with it.**

**FUCKING. BAD. ASS. **


	2. Chapter 1

The forest below the mountain was as beautiful as ever. Sir Alva could remember the lonely summer years when his mother and father used to walk him through it, together. The three of them were closer then any blood relatives. Alva was sadly reminded of his mother as he walked slowly through the forest. He sighed, and gazed at the distant trees, even they had drooped and withered, as if they too had felt the sorrow of their tenders.

Deciding to rest-up, Alva unpacked some rations, but the forest granted him plentiful apples and fresh, flowing water, so he helped himself, and sat down next to a stump.

Taking his helmet off, he began to take a bite of his apple, chewing it slowly, savouring it's sweet, ripe flavour that filled him with energy. The water too, cooled his warm face and gave him the energy needed to do this journey.

Reminding himself, Alva sat up, and began to 'draw' into the grass, painting his path of every land he knew of.

Heide, Mirrah, Jugo, Volgen, among others. Alva knew the way, he always had done.

The title of 'Knight' was a little unfitting for one as Alva, he was lazy, rude and undisciplined. He knew it well. He couldn't care less.

Except if Serrate was in the picture, which she nearly always was. Closing his eyes, Alva smiled as he remembered the day they first met...

* * *

"_You cannot do this!" Alva screamed above the crowds. The guards kept a firm grip in his shoulders._

"_We do not tolerate protesters, _boy_!" he sneered into Alva's ear._

"_She was _peaceful _protesting!" Alva retorted. "Then she was beaten and broken, you monsters!"_

"_Step aside, maggot!" a bystander spat, and pushed past them both. Alva watched on in horror as the kind, gentle woman wearing nothing but a rag that barely covered her, was staring at her executioner, muttered words that no-one could hear._ _Her only response was a swift slap to her face, blood bled from her rose red lips. Tears swelled in her eyes, yet she remained vigilant._

"_Stop this!" Alva shouted, then decided he had had enough, and bolted to the stage._

"_It's your funeral, kid!" the guard laughed from behind. Alva did not care, and promptly pushed the executioner onto his ass._

"_Holy-" he gasped, amazed at how such a small kid could push a well-trained warrior like him, with ease, at that. But his gasp turned to laugh as he gazed upon the filthy rat that stood in front of him, breathing angrily. "Get off the stage, runt."_

"_You first." Alva retorted. He could hear the woman gasp behind him._

"_You little shit, stand aside, or else-"_

"_Well, what do we have here?" The fat royal stood from his seat. "A challenger has come to play?"_

_Alva snorted at the short, fat man. "Feeling bad for me? I would feel bad for the rings on your fingers, pig."_

_The crowd gasped. No-one had dared to stand up against this tyrant, much less a young boy. The executioner tried to deliver a back-hand, but the crowd gasped even sharper as they witnessed Alva smacking his hand away, with _ease. _No-one could understand how such a small boy had the strength of a fully-grown man._

"_What the hell-"_

"_Theo, what _are _you doing?" The fat lord sighed, then walked onto stage. "Tell you what. Since I'm such a nice person, I'll make a deal."_

_Alva and Theo stared at each other, but still listened._

"_You defeat Theo, boy, you can walk away with that silly little wench, like a knight and his princess..."_

_The woman, on cue, was hurled off-stage._

"_Theo, defeat this boy, and you get a pat on the back, and of course, another head to put on your wall."_

_Theo grinned madly at Alva, but said nothing._

"_My child! What are you doing, you have no need to do this!" The woman screamed from behind. Alva ignored her, concentrating on how to take down this brute in front of him. He drew his weapon._

"_My longsword!?" a man from the crowd exclaimed._

"_You weren't putting it to any use." Alva retorted, getting back into focus. Theo had got his axe ready, and shook his head._

"_You're dead, kid."_

_Alva, sick of this man and his taunts, pressed forward, slowly, adrenaline already kicking in into his system. Theo made the first move._

Strike. _Alva dodged the wide swing with ease, and countered-_

_-missed. Theo swung the back of his axe. Alva back peddled, then thrusted._

_A clang of metal was heard. Alva cursed under his breath. He hit a pauldron._

_Theo made the next move, and punished with a swift hook, cracking Alva in his jaw. The crowd winced and sucked in air._

_Alva recovered, wiping blood, and pressed forward with a quick pair slashes. Theo blocked them both, then threw a swing._

_Alva ducked, and thrusted, this time hitting Theo's thigh. Blood oozed slowly from the wound. Theo winced._

"_Little shit!" he growled, and swung with abandon. The crowd gasped as the axe hit the dirt._

_Alva, smirking, saw his window. He jumped, and along the shaft of the axe, and kicked Theo, cracking his jaw._

_As he landed in the dirt on his ass, Alva pounced, grabbing Theo's hood, then smashed his head into the floor. Repeatedly. _

_His vision turned red. The crowd's roars turned to muffles. The only thing Alva wanted was Theo's head to be _smashed _into the ground. Blood splattered onto his face, spurring him on._

_What seemed like an hour of adrenaline, it only lasted a few more seconds till his limbs trembled, white noise filled his ears, and his hair was plastered with blood and sweat._

_The crowd looked on, in amazement. Alva had over-powered a fully grown man, and half-beaten him to death. Theo sniffed the running mucus that escaped his nose, tears streamed down his face._

"_Enough!" The fat royal shouted above the noise. Alva still glared into Theo's _soul. "_Enough._"

_Alva stood up (with some effort), grasping his jaw. A key was promptly thrown at him. "Take yourself and that little whore, and get OUT_ _of my town!" The lord boomed, but to Alva, he was no more then a snivelling little pig._

_The woman from before had watched the whole thing, and looked on in awe at Alva approaching her. "Child... what is your name?"_

"_Alva." he replied. The woman smiled._

"_I am Serrate, and you truly are a gift from the gods." she whispered, and kissed his broken jaw, and at once, all pain faded, and they stared at each other. Even after Alva had scooped her up into his arms_

_And even after he carried her out of the gates..._

* * *

Alva jerked up right. A strange noise came from somewhere. Gripping his sword, he surveyed his surroundings. Asking who it was would be a bad idea. Never call out when you are alone, he was always taught.

A few sticks fell onto the floor. He turned around, and saw them on the floor. Peering up, Alva laughed, much to the chagrin of the stranger in the apple tree.

"What are you laughing at?" the woman sneered, though it was hard _not _to laugh at her, red faced and upside down, her raven black hair nearly reaching the floor.

"That, has to be, _the _strangest way I have ever seen someone pick apples." Alva laughed. The woman folded her arms. "Would you like some help?"

"No." she bit back quickly. Alva nodded, and stood quietly. The woman was still crossed armed.

"You, err, getting light-headed yet?" Alva asked.

"No."

"Ah."

More silence.

"What about now?"

"...Still no."

A soft breeze blew between them.

"...Now maybe?" Alva asked with a smirk. The red faced woman only nodded. "Heh, alright then..." Alva walked underneath her, and held out his arms.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, you're gonna drop sooner or later." Alva began. "Most likely sooner."

"You're going to catch me?" The woman asked.

"Nope, I'm just gonna hold my arms out like this." Alva replied with a smirk. The woman winced, whether from frustration or from dizziness, it was hard to tell.

"I don't trust you."

"You don't have a choice."

Sighing the woman lifted her back, and taking a deep breath, she jumped.

As promised, she landed harmlessly into Alva's arms, who was laughing. "See, easy!"

The woman hastily got out of his arms, though he wasn't letting go. "Take it easy, the blood needs to leave your head before you go running around!"

The woman groaned as her head swayed side to side.

"...Or falling out of more trees." Alva finished. The woman shot him a glare which only spurred on his hysterics. She ignored him, and slowly went to retrieve a basket from the ground. "Ahem."

The young lady turned to Alva, who was still smiling. "Oh, thank you, I guess."

Alva shrugged, knowing that that was the only form of thanks he was getting. "I'm Alva, by the way."

A small laugh escaped the woman's thin lips. Alva thought they were beautiful. "I am Zullie."

Alva felt his brow furrow. "That's a weird name you have there." Zullie frowned like Alva.

"Why?"

"Uh, no no no! It's not like that 'weird'." He stammered. "It's, err, um, _unique _weird!"

Zullie was not convinced. Alva quickly changed the conversation. "Why do you have so many apples?"

Zullie looked at her overflowing basket, then shrugged. "I like apple pies."

"Oh."

"Why, is it wrong for me to have so many?"

Alva laughed. "No no! These gardens are open to all." Zullie turned her head to the side.

"You own them, then?"

"No, but the owner of that place does." He said, pointing at the ivory citadel on the mountain. "Lady Serrate."

Zullie turned to Alva, and only then did he really see her strange, but beautiful violet eyes. "You mean Saint Serrate?" Alva scratched his head.

"She prefers Lady."

"...I see." Zullie finished, then dusted her self down. "I must go now, my mother is expecting me."

Alva's smile faded a little. "Ah, well I won't keep you. It was nice to meet you, Zullie." Zullie gave Alva curt nod, then began to walk away. "Hey, if you need any help falling out of trees, you know where to find me!"

Zullie slowed, showing irritation, but continued on her way. Alva was enraptured, never taking his eyes of her, even when she had turned around the corner, out of sight.

"Damn." Was all Alva said, still smiling.


	3. Chapter 2

"Idiot knight..." Zullie whispered to herself as she walked away from the laughing fool. Finally, when out of range from his hysterics, she continued through the gardens. Picking up some ripe apples within her reaching range, she finally reached the valley that led her towards the hut. It took her no longer then five minutes to reach her destination, though Zullie purposely took slow careful steps, to avoid reaching there sooner.

Zullie cursed quietly to herself. She had taken the shorter route. Now the hut was in plain view. "Damn it..." Taking in a sharp breath, she pushed open the vine covered and rotting hut door.

The smell of woodsmoke wafted into Zullie's nose as she entered the small hut. In front of her, three small and decrepit old women sat around an equally small and decrepit table. Lined with spatulas, vials and strange liquid, Zullie guessed, no, _knew_, that they were poisons. She approached the eldest woman. Shrewd, dark features lined her grooved face, a few teeth lined her blackened gums as she sucked on a piece of something. Dirty finger nails clawed at the lid of a vial. Zullie grimaced as she instead used a tooth to crack the vial open.

The young witch swallowed hard before greeting. "Here are the apples you asked for, Mistress." She said with a curt nod. Not even a grunt of approval was given as the Mistress snatched the basket away with frightening strength.

Zullie did her best to hide her hurt, and sat quietly next to her. She began to assist the others by preparing the poison. First, she ripped the stalk hard, making sure a tiny hole was left at the top. Grasping a vial, she tipped slowly, and carefully, the contents of it. The juices of the apple bubbled and popped. Seeing as how none of the poison secreted out of the apple, she placed it in a different basket, one that already contained some apples with poisoned cores.

"Would young Zullie care to explain why she took so long today?" The Mistress finally croaked, snake eyes boring into Zullie's purple ones. She gulped hard.

"I-I was simply taking my time finding some ripe ones." She stammered. The mistress' eyes brightened as they widened.

"What have I told you about lying, Zullie?" Mistress spat with venom. "Where have you been?" Zullie swallowed again before looking at her feet, and murmured something. "Well, child?"

"...I was, stuck, in a tree." She finally confessed. The witches laughed at her with haggard and wheezing laughs. The Mistress was not one of them.

"And how did you get down?" Mistress questioned.

"Does-Does it matter?"

"Yes! Of Course it matters!" The Mistress screeched. Zullie felt her heart hit the roof of her mouth. "What if he followed you? What if he has found a village and spread the word of three, 'harmless', old women here? What if, What if, What if!?"

Zullie sucked on her lower lip. All eyes were on her. "I never said I was helped..." The Mistress came near her face, blowing her rancid breath into her eyes. Zullie bit her lip to stop it trembling.

"Getting out of trees, child, is not one of your specialities." The Mistress sneered, her words dripped with venom. Zullie forgot to breath.

"A travelling knight helped me down." Zullie finally gave in. The Mistress leaned closer, till her long nose nearly touched Zullie's small one.

"And his name?" she murmured, so only the two of them could hear. Zullie nodded.

"I believe he said Alva."

Recognition was the hardest expression to hide. Not even the Mistress could hide her thoughts on the matter. Her eyes narrowed before she spoke.

"The dog of Serrate is out of his kennel..." Tutting, the other witches joined in with her. "...and right into our hands."

The witches tuts turned to hacking giggles. Zullie looked around in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Alva is out for a good reason. But, that is also good for us." The Mistress said as she stood, spine creaking loudly. Zullie swayed a little. "This is a opportunity we cannot miss." Reaching for the closet door, The Mistress breathed in with excitement as she unlocked both of the doors. "Now, Zullie, this will be a good opportunity for you."

All the witches breathed in hard as they saw, in the closet, staring blankly at them all, was a suit of armour that extruded evil. By it's side, a gigantic sword, roughly the width of a table and the length of a halberd. It bared no sharp edge or point, in fact, the point was flat and as wide as the rest of the sword. The armour was as black as night, with four eye holes staring forward at nothing.

The Mistress cackled in delight.


	4. Chapter 3

Alva breathed out again as he lay on his stomach in the shrubs. He groaned quietly, as did his stomach. He tried to clutch it, but then he remember he was still wearing his light armour.

_Dammit, Alva! _He thought, _This is exactly what happens when you pig out the day before! _Peering back through the bushes, he saw his trap and bait, waiting quietly for some unsuspecting creature to waddle along, and fulfil its role in the food chain. Alva had been waiting the whole day for something, _anything_ to come along. It was almost noon, when Lady Luck turned to his favour.

"Oh! Oh, yes!" Alva whispered while donning a face-wide grin. A rather fat duck waddled noisily in the puddles, and approached the last scrapping of bread Alva had spared from his gluttonous rampage. The best thing? One of it's wings were hurt. Easy kill.

It pecked the still fresh bread.

"That's it..." Alva whispered, grin getting wider.

The duck pecked some more.

"Keep going..."

SNAP! The trap worked! The catch came undone and the crude cage flipped forward!

...And the duck quaked loudly, and quickly waddling away with the remains of the bread. Alva growled to himself.

"You cheeky, little prick." He drew his dagger from his hip. "Right, sod this." With the last little bit of strength he had, Alva launched himself forward, tackling the poor duck over. With a quick motion, Alva sliced the struggling duck across its throat, blood spewing onto the grass, but victory in Alva's mind. He could hardly speak. Finally, after hours of waiting, he _finally _had food in his hand.

Without hesitation, he sliced open the ducks belly, took the liver out, and gulped it down raw, gagging slightly on its bitter taste and slimy texture, but it worked. Now able to think and work properly, he hauled his catch back to his camp site, and got to work immediately. First, he cut off the feet and head of the duck, then took little care taking out its guts. He was too hungry, too tired to care.

He then began the long and tedious task of removing the feathers from its body. While this took a while, it was worth the work. He had a perfect, plump and tasty looking duck, even if it was currently raw.

Washing it off in the nearby stream, Alva then started a fire, and watched with a watery mouth as the duck span slowly over the camp-fire. While the duck was spitting, Alva made use of the other parts. Storing away some of the feathers for when he gets to a nearby town, and stuffed his sleeping pillow with some, Alva got the stomach and took strips of it, drying them in the afternoon sun, he found some berries in a nearby area, thinking that he probably wasn't going to eat the whole duck tonight, he will make duck and berry cakes for later.

By the time the sun had set, the duck was almost ready. Alva waited with anticipation as the duck was nearing its final turn. Finally, after nearly half a day of waiting, Alva could wait no longer.

He wrenched the duck from the spit, and devoured it, without thanking its spirit, or the gods, for the a gift such as this.

He could almost hear Serrate tutting in the distance.

Still, he was too hungry to care. Every bite, every chew was a plethora of flavours. Within minutes of none stop eating, he had decided that enough was enough, and lay down on his back, sighing with delight. The now full Alva still had difficulty getting up and doing some preparations for the days to come. With the dried up stomach strips from earlier and the berries, he rolled the meat and berries together in his palms, and wrapped them in the stomach strips, one by one, until he had quite a nice amount of cakes lined up, which he then put into his food sack.

Finally with some food down him, Alva brought out his map of the known lands, and began to trace his journey. The closest land was Mirrah, a land of Knights, as it was known. Alva doubted he would find the cure there, but it was a start. Next to Mirrah, was the land of Heide. Like Mirrah, it delved into the realm of iron and steel. He also doubted he would find the cure there, but it was beyond Heide that his luck would be far better.

It was the lands after Heide that caught Alva's attention. Jugo was a desert land, recently made, actually. They were bound to have some insight on the sickness. If not, surely Melfia, the land of sorcerers and witches?

In any case, Alva was sure to find something, _anything, _on this curse.

Whatever he was going to do, he was surely not going to begin right now, since he had dipped his head, and was sound asleep.

* * *

"I should have gone the lower route..." Alva murmured to himself as he craned his already aching neck at the cliff face, right next to an angry looking waterfall. He had woken up in a bad mood, and his mood worsened as the morning went. The sky was overcast too. Just what Alva needed.

Clambering up the cliff face while getting pounded by the spray from the water fall, he managed to climb about half way, before shaking his head, and climbing back down, cursing repeatedly as he did so, and sulked childishly as he continued on the winding path. He had set in stone that the first thing he was buying when he got to Mirrah was a climbing set, or something. Anything to shorten time and walking.

Trying to take his mind of the boring walk, he thought of the day before, when he had met that beautiful, if rather rude woman. He hardly knew anything about Zullie, just her name and appearance. Yet, Alva felt something, a sense of familiarity.

He felt drawn, even.

His thoughts scattered when he heard a dog bark. Not a wolf. A dog, and dogs mean people. Deciding against seeing who it was, Alva took careful steps forward, being sure not to step on a twig or a loose rock. Hiding behind a tree, he peered around the tree, and held his breath.

A hunting party. A couple of men and women, and about three, no, four dogs. Alva wasn't sure if they were friend or foe, and he wasn't ready to find out. He took a glove of, licked his finger, and held it up. It blew away from the hunting party, good. No scent, less trouble to deal with.

Sneaking past the party, he walked away without a hitch, though from hear on out, he would have to be more careful. No doubt one of those parties wouldn't be out mere fauna.

Another cliff face, though this one was nowhere near as steep as the last. Alva smiled, realizing that he could climb this with ease.

His smile faded when he slipped on the first rock. Sighing, and turning red, despite no-one being around, he tried again, with greater success, and hauled himself onto the cliff edge.

Only then did he realise how much he missed home. The forest looked so small now. The mountain where he lived was no longer in sight, buried by clouds.

But peering forward, his hopes returned to him. Mirrah was in sight.

* * *

Mirrah, was in itself, fairly unimpressive. It was bright and colourful, with plenty of happiness going round ad such. It, to Alva, just wasn't giving him any impressions that made him go 'wow'.

First things first, he went to a local hunting store.

"Ah greetings sir! How can I assis-"

"How much for these?" Alva interrupted to man. After giving him a sharp glare, which Alva cared little for, the merchant opened the bag, and tossed Alva two silver.

"Any thing else, _sir?" _The owner sneered. Alva had his attention on something else.

"How much are those?" he asked while nodded his head towards a rope and other climbing equipment. The shop keeper smiled, sarcastically, and took the two silver off the desk. Alva left, mood worsening as the day went. Thinking about leaving already, he made his way to the castle.

It might be because of where he lives, but Alva found the castle dark and cold. It was clean, at least. The royal emblem of Mirrah hung on the curtains and banners around the castle. The wind blew through the holes in the walls, a poor excuse for 'windows.' Alva made his way to the throne room, someone of great importance must be there.

"Halt, Knight." The door guard commanded. Alva did. Sort of.

"I need to speak to your Lord." Alva groaned, while looking at the masked knights in front of him. Only Mirrah would adopt such queer customs. And designs.

"I am afraid our Lord is out at the minute. Perhaps later you may seek an audience." The other told him.

"I will find him. Where is he?" Alva said impatiently.

"We do not have the answers to your question."

"Or you won't give them to me."

"Whichever, you won't find him." The knight with the halberd snapped, patience running out. Alva gave one last groan, and realized he would have to _wait. _The very thought made him angry. He'd been waiting for that duck for nearly a whole day yesterday, he just wanted to be rid of Mirrah, and move on.

Leaving the gods-forsaken castle behind for now, Alva made his way back to town, fuming. He had no idea what he was going to do, where he was going to be, and how sort out his still hurting knee when he slipped from earlier on that stupid cliff.

He shuddered. _Why did I do that?_

A woman screamed in the distance, followed by another, and another, until the whole town was in chaos.

Then the thunderous sound of hooves, growing steadily louder, and louder.


End file.
